


You promised me

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, actually very sad, au where Sherlock doesn't survive reichenbach, bit sad though, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 10:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8485297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When John Watson was 16, he had the most vivid dream he'd ever had, and of course it was a nightmareWhen he was 38, he lived it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey... This is my first attempt at a Johnlock fic, so I'm sorry if it a bit crappy. Here goes nothing :)

When John Watson was 16 years old, he had the most vivid nightmare he'd ever had. He was rooted to a spot in the busy streets of London, that were now so quiet and empty, eerily quiet. His eyes were drawn upwards as he watched Sherlock standing on the roof of st bart's, his voice vauge and tinny through the mobiles they both held. He felt his heart pounding angrily in his chest as he watched, feeling sick and more afraid than he ever had. He begged the brunette not to jump, but he still said goodbye, and John didn't wake up until he'd seen his boyfriend's body, cold and bloodstained, flat on the street.

When Sherlock Holmes was 16, he was woken up in the middle of the night once by his boyfriend jolting up suddenly in the bed they were sharing that night. He saw the tears in his eyes, and immediately he was sitting up beside the blonde, arms around him tightly. He brushed his hair away from his eyes, and once John had told him what his nightmare had been, Sherlock hugged him tighter and promised that would never happen. Promised he'd never make John go through that.

 

But when John was 38, that nightmare wasn't a nightmare anymore. He could remember it second by second, his eyes tearfilled and voice broken as he begged, pleaded for him to not jump, for him to stop, to keep the promise he'd made when they were both 16. He didn't, and John was once again forced to see his boyfriend's body, bloodstained and cold as he hit the street below. He cried so much that day, he didn't know what to do with himself but cry and wonder why Sherlock hadn't kept that promise.

When he was 39, the nightmares had come back, worse than ever, and never about the war anymore. He dealt with them, he could face them, but he couldn't face watching that awful day again and again and again, but his mind forced him to. He never took the sleeping pills his therapist offered though, it was the only time he got to see sherlock's face.

When he was 40, he was no happier, no better off than he had been two years earlier, and he doubted that would ever change. His heart was broken and he knew nothing could fix it, nothing but the smart-Arse detective he'd give anything to have back by his side. It was less than a week after his birthday when he did it in the end, his life wasn't worth much like this, not when he was still broken, and unable to function after it seemed like everyone else had moved on. He still had the gun, tucked away in his bottom drawer but never forgotten. He told himself he wouldn't, told himself that Sherlock would come home, and he had o stay alive for that, but that seemed a weak argument now, and so he stopped telling himself it, instead he decided that if the detective wasn't coming home, he'd go to him.

When John Watson was 16, he had the worst dream he'd ever had

When he was 38, he lived it

When he was 40, it was finally over


End file.
